


Group Session

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider, s10 ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dina goes to a group therapy session in Kansas after suffering a loss and instantly clicks with a shy, scrawny man there by the name of Sam Winchester. They soon find out they have much in common-- they share the same tragedy. Outsider perspective about how Sam deals with losing Dean in the s9 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Group Session

The first thing she notices about him is that he’s so quiet.

He’s tall— so tall he had to bend over slightly to fit inside the door frame, and she had assumed he’d have a big, imposing presence and a lumbering gait, what with those broad shoulders and everything. She’d thought his confession would be  _"I killed a man with my bare hands"_  or something equally terrifying. Just an observation, of course.

But he was the opposite.

Dina had been the first to arrive at group. Besides the therapist, of course. This was the first meeting— she’d seen the advertisement two weeks ago and decided to give it a shot, nervously thinking over every possible outcome (mostly the traumatizing ones) and counting down the minutes. She’d sat facing the door, twining her fingers together and jiggling her knee, Dr. Shapiro making friendly small talk that began to dwindle away with long, awkward pauses. 

Slowly, the room had filled up with all kinds of people; some who’d sit far away, others who would keep close to other people so they wouldn’t feel quite so alone. Dr. Shapiro had clapped her hands together once and opened her mouth to welcome them all when he had ducked in. Quiet as a mouse. She’d judged him immediately by his looks, which she felt awful about as he proved her every assumption wrong.

He ducks his head and smiles quickly- barely, really- before he pads silently around the circle of chairs and goes to sit next to her in the last chair available. He folds in on himself, crossing one leg over the other and hunching down, looking toward the floor and staying still while Dr. Shapiro makes her opening speech. Any other eyes who had been looking at him curiously now turned away, the latecomer all but forgotten.

He doesn’t notice her, but Dina realizes she’s staring and turns her attention to the therapist, soaking in every soothing word and trying to force herself to believe it.  _It’ll all be okay. We’ve all been through so much, but we’re still here. And we’re here for each other._

Dr. Shapiro has them all recite this last bit, and even though it’s cheesy, everyone seems to calm down a little. Dina’s glad she’s not the only anxious one— maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.

The thought goes away as quickly as it came when Dr. Shapiro announces it’s time to share who they are, one thing about themselves, and why they’re here. Dina’s heartbeat speeds up, and she resumes to playing with her hands so they don’t shake. She doesn’t want to tell. What if they laugh at her? Why did she come here at all?

She swallows and goes through the breathing exercises she taught herself. She’s being stupid. It’s the shy man’s turn right now, which means she’s next. She turns to him, trying to be the picture of respect and mental sanity. 

"My name’s Sam," he begins, and people around the group lean forward and crane their necks to hear him, "and, I uh, I’ve traveled around a lot."

"Speak up, honey," Dr. Shapiro urges, and he ducks his head again. "Why are you here, Sam?"

He scratches the back of his neck. He looks up from under his hair and sees all the eyes on him and looks immediately back down at his lap. Dina feels for him. She notices with a pang that he’s a bit too skinny for being freaking ginormous, and feels even worse for assuming him to be a criminal. It sounds so ridiculous now— this man killing people, this man holding a gun. It’s impossible.

"I lost my brother," he confesses, and his voice cracks. "I tried to save him but I couldn’t."

Something is stuck in Dina’s throat. Something is stuck in Dina’s eye. Something is sticking her in place, pinning her to the earth and threatening to swallow her. She can’t move, can’t turn away from him, even though everyone else already has.

They’re looking at her.

"I’m Dina," she squeezes out, voice sounding pressurized. She swallows. She looks at Sam and he nods slightly, and she looks at everyone else and tries to hold their gazes. She feels marginally okay. She’s the last one— she knows all their stories. It’s only right to share her’s.

"I listen to eighties hair bands," she tells them, and feels encouraged when she’s met with chuckles and grins, "and… and I lost my little sister. It was my fault."

The group sobers. She can feel Sam’s gaze on her, but can’t meet it. The moment she had heard his story she’d felt tied to him, like whatever brought him here, whatever life led him here, it was just like her’s. She used to feel so angry— no one ever understood. Her best friends, her aunt. She couldn’t understand why they couldn’t comprehend the guilt and grief she’d felt. Their words-  _it’s time to move on, Dina-_  were lances through her stomach, not flowers on graves or a soft touch to the hand. So she’d ran. They’d stopped looking for her. It must’ve been a show, anyway, she was too scarred or too fragile for them to deal with. It wasn’t fair. The world didn’t get her.

But maybe Sam would. 

The rest of group therapy goes by in a rushed blur— there’s food and games, and more talking, and more repeating phrases, and a bunch of get-to-know-you activities. She barely sees Sam, going from person to person and learning who likes anchovies on their pizzas and who has a dog named Spot. She’d had him only once, and he said he liked old music, too. He’d also been in some trust building game and his hand felt safe in hers. 

It was over too soon, and everyone filed out, chatting and laughing with each other. Dr. Shapiro had said she was proud of them. Sam walked out alone ahead of her, and with steely determination she decided to befriend him. It’d been too long since she’d known anyone, and she hoped she could help Sam by him knowing her.

It takes her too long to muster up any courage.

"Sam!" she blurts out as Sam takes a key from his pocket and walks to a classic car parked by the curb. He turns, surprised, and looks at her.

He gives her a warm smile, but there’s no real energy behind it. He pockets the key and holds out his empty hand. “Dina, right?” he asks, and his voice is still too soft.

"Uh… yeah," she stutters, and shakes his hand quickly, almost too forcefully. "Um, listen," the words tumble out of her mouth in a rush, trying to tether him here, as if when he leaves he will never come back, "listen, I heard what you said in group. About your brother. And I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… I get it. Honestly. You probably get a lot of people telling you that, but I promise I do. I went through the same thing, I think. I know the guilt. And the general shittiness. And the aloneness, or whatever. So, if you ever want to talk outside of group, It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going to leave."

Something in her words gets through to him, bone-deep, and she can see the change in his eyes, from disconnected to  _right here,_  like skin struck open, a nerve raw and vulnerable and vibrating with not just pain but with  _life._ He takes a shuddering breath as if it is his first breath and nods. He takes her hand again, holding it between them like a tether. He smiles, and there are tears in his eyes, but this smile is real and it means something, and he nods again. “I think I’ve been waiting to here that for a really long time,” he manages, his voice messed up with emotion, “so thank you. Really, Dina. Thank you.”

And then he hugs her, a bone-crushing squeezing hug that pulls the air out of her and she can’t help but sniffle, begging the tears not to pour out like last time and hugs him back with all her might, the two of them keeping each other grounded. When she pulls back she laughs a little when she notices they’re both crying. He smiles again. He takes out his phone and she puts her number in it, and he smiles again, shyly, before getting into his car. He waves into the rear-view mirror as he drives away and Dina waves back.

For the first time in several months Dina really feels alive, and the sound of the engine of his car stays in her head long after he has driven away.

The next day, her pulse races when she notices she has a text from him, but her stomach drops and pools at her feet when she reads it. Only three words.

_I’m sorry, Dean._


End file.
